


Lightning Constellations

by bwyn



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Gen, Reunions, that's...literally it hehehe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 13:06:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11487000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bwyn/pseuds/bwyn
Summary: At twenty years old, Gon is scarred and tired, but he faces every day with a grin and a found family that continues to grow.At twenty, Gon enters a hotel lobby with a fishing pole over his shoulder, a slight shake to his hands and an ache in his knuckles that will never go away.At twenty, in a hotel lobby, Gon meets Killua once more.





	Lightning Constellations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yuisaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuisaki/gifts).



> happy birthday to the sweetnsalty babbu [yui](http://archiveofourown.com/users/yuisaki) _(:3」∠)_  
> ily and i hope ur birthday is lit fam :'))))) ((the teeniest bit early but it's FINE))
> 
>  
> 
> and thanks @[finn](http://archiveofourown.com/users/coatofflowers) for checkin' it :3c

The years press heavy on Gon’s shoulders. They show in the laugh lines around his mouth, and the crease of his brow, far too deep for someone barely twenty. By fourteen he was already world-weary, beaten and broken but still thirsting for adventure. By sixteen he was long since an adult. By eighteen, folks twice his age claimed wisdom spilled from his lips like gold. To Gon, the stories people tell of the shapes in the sky, glittering suns of distant worlds, are filled with far more wisdom than any tired, bitter words of his own.

 

He supposes eager ears miss the way his voice drops when he talks of hope, or the strain of his voice as he tries to remain cheerful, recalling those moments when he nearly forgot what hope was.

 

Because to him, hope is the faith he has in his friends, in people, and the kindness that seems so overpowered by the darkness prevalent in his world. Years ago, hope was to Gon a friend with sharp words and sharper eyes, and a smile so kind he could forget, if just for a moment, that danger haunts his footsteps.

 

But it’s also been years since he last saw Killua.  
  
Gon doesn’t remember when he stopped looking over his shoulder to say something to a missing Killua. He knows the sliver of vacancy whenever he sees something new and exciting may never really go away—only now, the knee jerk reaction to _share_ is gone. There’s only so much he can put into letters that he is never sure will make it to Killua, and even then the replies are vague and broken as though he is living in secrecy. Time continues; the letters grow shorter and more infrequent.

 

At twenty years old, Gon is scarred and tired, but he faces every day with a grin and a found family that continues to grow.

 

At twenty, Gon enters a hotel lobby with a fishing pole over his shoulder, a slight shake to his hands and an ache in his knuckles that will never go away.

 

At twenty, in a hotel lobby, Gon meets Killua once more.

 

It’s as he’s taking back his Hunter identification and a hotel key that Gon notices the arrow in his periphery. It’s just a graphic—yellow on green—but it evokes something in Gon when he turns that he isn’t sure is good or bad. After all, it’s just a skateboard leaning against a counter…

 

His memories provide the rest. The wheels are new, the paint job one that looks as though it’s been redone several times over, but it must be the same skateboard. Battered, bruised, just as weary as Gon himself.

 

And then there’s the thin buzz of a yo-yo, and when Gon’s excited gaze snaps up, it’s to see a teenaged girl with long black hair fumbling through several yo-yo tricks. She’s taller than he remembers, having only met her briefly before parting ways, but the resting cheer in Alluka’s expression is the same. When the toy in her hands jerks to a stop at the end of its string, Gon spots the six-pointed star. Like the skateboard propped up against counter, it’s roughed up and scarred. Gon swallows hard. His gaze flicks around, but there’s no shock of white hair, no sharp blue eyes, no sardonic smile—just Alluka standing beside a skateboard and swinging a yo-yo up and down.

 

“Alluka,” says Gon before he can consider his options. What other options are there even? If Alluka is here, then surely—

 

She looks up, and there’s a wary edge to the way she gives Gon a once over. The yo-yo bounces and hits her open palm. She blinks in surprise, then several more times in quick succession as recognition dawns.

 

Alluka smiles bright. “Gon!” she nearly shouts. “Is that you? You’re—wow, um, tall.”

 

“Thanks?” laughs Gon, joining her out of the way of other patrons. “You’re not exactly short yourself.”

 

“I thought I was going to outgrow big bro for a while there,” she says with a pout. “What a terrible couple years that was.”

 

The words _big bro_ fizz in Gon’s stomach like little firecrackers. “Killua is here then?”

 

“Of course!” Alluka leans around him. “He was talking to a big man outside—oh! Here he comes now!”

 

The first few years Gon was apart from Killua, he imagined what seeing him again would be like. Lots of laughter, bouncing around, excitedly regaling each other with tales of glory and adventure. Even then, the scars that lay beneath his skin and saw him thrashing awake at night weren’t enough to dampen his thirst for a thrill. He imagined a Killua slightly taller. He imagined a Killua with the same smile and the same eyes and the same laugh. He imagined his best friend—even after days of fear and nights of panic, weeks of hazardous adventure and thrilling feats—the same as when he’d left.

 

Gon imagined meeting Killua again would be picking up right where they left off.

 

He isn’t wrong.

 

The man Alluka is waving enthusiastically at is taller than Gon, his hair is shorter but still unruly, and the loose fabric of his shirt shows more muscle than Gon recalls him ever having—but all of it is Killua. From the crook of his eyebrows to the twitch of his shocked grin, there’s no way Gon could ever mistake him for a stranger.

 

“Killua,” says Gon, the firecrackers burning up his throat.

 

“Gon,” mocks Killua, and he grins so wide his eyes crinkle. “Long time no see!”

 

His stride is long and brisk, which gives Gon barely any time to pick up any momentum of his own before they’re clasping hands, forearms, and sharing a laugh before drawing each other in for an embrace. Killua smells like ozone and copper, the air after a thunderstorm and blood. The latter is a scent as familiar to Gon as earth, and it isn’t one which frightens him. To Gon, blood signifies the struggle for life moreso than it does death. As if solidifying such a view, Killua’s arms tighten around Gon, strong and reliable, before releasing him.

 

They step back, holding each other out at arm’s length.

 

“You’re tall,” notes Killua. Something flickers oddly in his gaze, but his smile holds steady.

 

“You’re taller,” says Gon, and he wrinkles his nose as he gives Killua’s arms a squeeze. “And what’s with all this muscle?”

 

Killua snorts a laugh. “You’re one to talk. Is this a bicep or a rocket launcher?”

 

“Both, I guess.” Gon’s mouth doesn’t really want to work with him. It’s too busy stretching in the widest smile humanly possible, which tends to make speech a little difficult. His eyes also feel glued to Killua, as though if Gon looks away, he’ll be alone once more. “What are you two doing in the city?”

 

Killua tilts his head. “Hunting,” he says slyly. Alluka comes forward, and Killua releases Gon to link arms with her. “How about you?”

 

“The same.” Always, never ending, the constant hunt.

 

Something must show on his face because Killua’s gaze sharpens as he studies Gon. Then he’s looking down the scant few inches at his sister. “Alluka, do you think you’ll be okay bringing our things up?”

 

She smiles and, with a flourish, a hotel card slides from her sleeve into her hand. “Of course!”

 

“Thanks, Alluka, I’ll meet you up there in an hour or two.”

 

The teen gathers up the skateboard and the small collection of bags at the foot of the counter. The yo-yo vanishes up her sleeve. With a final wave, eyes resting on Gon a beat longer, Alluka trots off to the elevators.

 

When Gon turns back, Killua is scrutinizing him again, and not bothering to hide it. It gives Gon a moment to note the tiny flecks of silvery pink scars that decorate Killua’s skin. A longer one, thin as a papercut, travels along the line of his jaw. Despite never having seen them, Gon finds them familiar if only because they reside on Killua’s face, and scars are only to be expected.

 

“Want to grab some food?” asks Killua.

 

“ _Definitely_ ,” says Gon with enthusiasm.

 

They collect something simple to eat—noodles and rolls—from a place across the street from the hotel. As they pay to-go, they talk about the places they’ve gone, the sights they’ve seen and the interesting people they’ve met. It feels a little bit like small talk, but Gon appreciates it nevertheless. Simply listening to Killua’s voice, even though it’s deeper and drier than when they parted, is nostalgic.

 

Gon considers the fact that he may fear the sense of normalcy that’s already permeating their conversation. If he is comfortable already, with Killua standing at his shoulder, a familiar presence after years of vacancy, then what will he do when he’s alone once more?

 

Instead of thinking about it, he focuses on the delicious smell of the food hiding away in their takeout boxes. Killua suggests they eat somewhere with a view, and Gon obliges.

 

The hotel roof—very much off-limits—hosts a helipad and blinking red lights at each corner. Gon jumps onto the landing pad, followed shortly after by Killua. They sit together at the center of the bold H with their food laid out between them.

 

For a while, they eat quietly, the air filled with the noises of the city: cars beeping, engines revving, faint chatter and doors opening and closing, a siren in the distance. The wind blows strong this high up, and a particularly powerful gust snatches away the cacophony from below.

 

“You alright?”

 

Gon feels his attention pull away from the background noise like gum. “Am I alright?”

 

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” Killua cocks an eyebrow, but the jab ends there.

 

Gon thinks about the years; the fights won and lost, regaining his abilities, saving lives and destroying them, the fears that rustle in his head at night and the joy of every sunrise. He thinks of the excitement of the hunt, the chase, the catch, and finding new ways to use his Hunter’s privileges. He thinks of the friends he’s made, and those that he has parted from since. He wonders how they’re doing, if they still think of him occasionally. He wonders if Killua dreams of him like Gon sometimes dreams of Killua.

 

“I will be,” answers Gon, when time stretches on too long between them. He takes a bite of his cold noodles. “You?”

 

Killua doesn’t smile, but his drop of his voice is reassuring. “I’m glad we bumped into each other.”

 

It isn’t an answer—or maybe it is.

 

“Me too,” says Gon. “Really glad. I don’t know what I was expecting though. Like a slightly taller version of younger you, maybe.”

 

Killua snorts. “Oh, are you disappointed?”

 

“I realize now that would be really _weird_ to look at.”

 

“Excuse you.”

 

They laugh, and it’s such a nice sound that Gon’s chest squeezes. When they settle, Killua looks towards the glitter of the skyscraper across from them.

 

“I thought I knew what to expect,” he says so softly that the wind nearly steals that away too. “I thought—but this version of you, the _real version_ …” Killua turns his gaze on Gon. “I think I was always a little scared of seeing you grown up, but that was a little stupid, wasn’t it?”

 

He laughs again. Gon doesn’t know what to say.

 

“Nice scars,” says Killua suddenly, pointing at the crescents by Gon’s elbow. “There’s a story there, I can tell.”

 

Gon blinks down at his arm. Then he takes the quietly desperate bait and grins. “Teeth marks from a deep sea shark.”

 

Killua squints at him. “Deep sea fishing?”

 

“Out of a submarine,” beams Gon.

 

“How the hell?”

 

Gon laughs, lets the sound pluck away the anxious drum of their hearts like the wind desires. He allows the story to take them elsewhere, sinking into the details of it and following the weaving threads of the conversation it instigates. Maybe they’re not yet ready to talk about the darker things, but that’s fine. It can wait—Gon is allowed to wait—if only because Killua, lying down beside Gon to study the sky, suggests they take Alluka around to see the sights together.

 

Together—Gon wonders how their footsteps will sound side by side now. He’s grateful he’ll have the opportunity to figure it out.

 

Above them, twinkling in the city-bleached sky, the stars seem brighter, somehow, when Killua is beside him.

 

* * *

* * *

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> man these kids have SEEN SOME SHIT and only after writing this am i like really thinking about it..... how would their characters change after years of doing these things..... how is gon so cheerful as it is...... b r uh.......... 
> 
> ANYWAY ILY HBD AGAIN.


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